


Potential: Victory is on the Airways, in the Air—Passing through Every Smiling, Open Mouth

by tuesday



Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Election night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potential: Victory is on the Airways, in the Air—Passing through Every Smiling, Open Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [](http://tl--dr.livejournal.com/profile)[**tl__dr**](http://tl--dr.livejournal.com/), who did an amazingly fast, very last-minute beta. You are awesome and amazing and have won an everlasting love from me for it.

Jon cries. Stephen wants to mock him, but he can feel his own eyes welling up, and emotion strangles his voice, makes it break and crack as he says, "We really did it."

"Yes, you did," Samantha Bee says softly, wrapped in Jason Jones's arms, while Jon blots at his eyes with a tissue a stage hand provides. A make-up artist darts forward to touch up his foundation and eyeliner, and Rob Riggle picks up John Oliver and spins him around a couple times, grinning wildly. Wyatt looks almost wrecked with his happiness, and Aasif claps a shaking hand on his shoulder. They all stare at one another for a moment, overcome, almost disbelieving that it's really come to pass, that after eight years of cynicism they can start to hope again.

Another stage hand alerts them that the clip is almost over, and they all file back out onto a set that seems somehow brighter, the edges of everything etched with joy. Stephen tries to draw his character back around himself and tamp down on his own wide smile, but it's hard when the lights are so bright and the world so full of people letting loose their joy.

—

After they wrap up the show, Stephen pulls Jon into a hug, gives him a loud smack on the cheek as several people laugh in the background as though Stephen did it for show, as a joke. Stephen smiles over his shoulder at them, before turning back to Jon.

"The Democrats have overrun two of the three branches of government," Stephen says, speaking into one hand curled like it's holding a microphone, an arm still wrapped around Jon's shoulder. "What are you going to do now?"

Stephen then holds the hand to Jon as though offering the invisible mike, and Jon leans his head down toward it, says, "I'm going to do the same thing I did last presidential election: go to a bar and get totally shit-faced."

"But at least this time you won't weep openly into your beer, right?" Stephen asks, dropping his hand.

"Oh, no," Jon says shamelessly. "There will definitely be weeping involved. But this time around, it won't be from despair."

"I can drink to that," Stephen says.

They extend the invitation to everyone else still in the studio once they've dressed in street clothes and washed off all traces of the stage make-up, but most everyone has already drifted out into the night. Jason and Samantha are still there, but they just laugh, and Jason says, "We're going to have our own private celebration at home."

Wyatt's on his cell phone and just points to the happy couple, briefly covering the phone to say, "My girlfriend and I have the same idea."

Stephen is secretly kind of glad, happy to have this moment alone with Jon. They stroll out together, and Stephen holds the door open with a flourish, then links their arms once they start walking down the street, making a show of his chivalry. Jon laughs, but he apparently accepts Stephen's attentions as inevitable, leaning a head against Stephen's shoulder rather than taking his arm back. Stephen hadn't thought it was possible to feel any happier, but he was wrong—it feels like a balloon expanding in his chest, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

—

They decide to head for a bar only a few blocks away. Partway there, Jon's cell phone rings (an actual, honest-to-God ring, because—as he's told Stephen many times before—Jon emphatically believes that all telephones should make a ringing noise, no matter how portable). Jon reclaims his arm to fish it out of his jacket pocket, says, laughing, "How did you get this number?"

Stephen shoves his hands in his own coat pockets, because though the air feels crisp and kind of refreshing, that doesn't make it any less cold. Stephen breath fogs in front of him as his feet beat a relaxed rhythm against the pavement next to Jon.

Jon says, "I'll see what he thinks," and looks at Stephen to ask, "Want to meet up with Anderson Cooper and Keith Olbermann? They're at a different bar, but it's only a few more blocks."

"They're together?" Stephen asks, remembering various comments they had made about one another on television. He wouldn't have expected them to have struck up any sort of friendship, much less be out celebrating together tonight. Then again, the teasing had held an almost fond edge, and they had hosted that one night of sports together. Stranger things have happened, Stephen thinks.

"I don't know," Jon replies, grinning. "Anderson is pretty dodgy when it comes to talking about his personal relationships, and I'm pretty sure Keith's straight."

Stephen pushes his shoulder, and Jon giggles in response to the person on the other end of the phone, swatting Stephen's hand away. "I'm so sure," Jon says. Then, "Sounds good. We'll see you in a bit." He hits end and puts the phone back in his pocket.

At the next cross-street, Jon hooks his arm through Stephen's again to tug him to the left. Stephen's still smiling helplessly, wondering if his face will freeze this way.

—

The bar is loud and crowded, the dull roar of people shouting gladly over one another rolling over Jon and Stephen along with a warm gust of air when they open the door. Keith and Anderson have a table, amazingly enough, and apparently Jon and Stephen aren't the only ones they've called, because Rachel Maddow is sitting on one of the stools, sipping at a half-full pint of beer. Anderson waves at them, and they push through the crowd to sit at the two empty chairs.

"I thought you'd all still be on air," Jon says.

"I know, it's amazing," Anderson says. "I didn't realize CNN and MSNBC had other reporters, either."

Rachel grins, and Keith smiles as though he's not sure what do with himself now that he's so happy.

"I'll grab us some drinks," Jon says, standing and squeezing Stephen's shoulder. "Anyone else want anything?"

"Another beer," Rachel says.

"You haven't finished that one," Keith says.

Rachel tilts the glass back against her mouth, downing it all in one rather remarkable go. She slams the glass on the table, grinning defiantly at Keith, then turns back to Jon and says, "Another beer, please."

Anderson claps twice and looks impressed. Keith laughs and says, "You heard the lady."

"Lady who can kick your ass," Rachel says, but she's smiling.

"Any other takers?" Jon asks.

Anderson gestures at his own three-quarters full glass, and Keith says, "Designated driver, I'm afraid."

"All the cool kids are taking taxis," Stephen says.

Jon laughs and says, "I take it that means you want two."

"Make it three," Stephen says.

"I'll make it two," Jon says, "and you can buy the next two rounds."

This is fair, and Stephen drums his fingers on the table to the excited beat of his heart as Jon walks away.

—

Stephen always forgets how funny Anderson is, and how fun it is to draw demented giggles out of him. Intoxicated, he's easier to make laugh, and Rachel—much funnier than Stephen expected—seems to take great joy in joining Stephen's goal to see how long they can keep him going for. Jon, as always, takes part in the banter, and Keith watches on with an indulgent smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

After a few rounds, Stephen gets up to use the restroom, and Jon follows him. "What are we, girls now?" Stephen asks.

"I've heard there's safety in numbers," Jon says, "and you know how dangerous those urinal cakes are. Turn your back, and they leap out with their extended claws and hidden teeth."

"It's good I have such a large, strong man to protect me then," Stephen says, and Jon smiles as he says, "Fuck you."

"Decided all the correspondents had the right idea about victory sex?" Stephen quips, pushing the men's room door open.

"Like you'd go for it." Jon shuts the door behind them.

"Try me," Stephen says, mostly kidding, and Jon surprises him, grabs his shoulders to plant one right on his mouth. Stephen's shocked enough that the smile finally falls off his face.

For an instant, Stephen thinks it's a joke, just another play in their flirting games, some variation of gay chicken. But then his lips part and Jon's tongue delves in, and it hits Stephen that as full of humor as their relationship is, this is actually serious.

Jon starts to pull away, and Stephen wraps his fingers in the lapels of Jon's jacket to tug him forward again. He nips at Jon's lower lip, then licks gently at it. His hands remain fisted in Jon's jacket, but Jon's skate down Stephen's side, then up, slipping under his short coat. They kiss slowly for another thirty seconds at least—Stephen's not counting each second ticking past or the fast beats of his heart thundering in his ears, concentrating instead on the feel of Jon's fingers seeking skin and Jon's lips pressed against his own.

Stephen breaks away to say, voice breathless and lungs burning, "I hate to stop, but I really do need to piss."

Jon laughs. "Classy as always, Colbert."

"Maybe you just need to work on your timing, _Stewart_."

Jon grins and lets Stephen go, but steals a quick kiss before he says, "I don't know, Stephen, I'd say it's pretty damn good."

—

Once they've both concluded their original business at the men's room and have washed their hands, they stumble back to the table. Keith smirks knowingly at them, and Rachel asks cheerfully, "Have fun?"

"Rachel!" Anderson says.

She smiles, unabashed, and Jon smiles back at her. Stephen says primly, "I have no idea what you're talking about," but he's not able to hold a straight face for long.

He and Jon don't move their stools any closer together, but the tall, round table is tiny, and their fingers brush together where they rest on the edge of it. Stephen is back to the helpless smiles, face sore with it, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He doesn't know what the future holds. The economy is pretty well fucked, as are the environment and a hundred thousand other issues. Things with Jon were complicated enough even before tonight.

But the lights overhead still seem to hold an unexpected extra brightness, pressing back against the dark, and the world seems to be effusive with joy. Stephen doesn't know exactly what tomorrow holds, but he knows the shape of it, would name it—_potential_.

For now, for once, he's unafraid. He's ready to see where it will lead him.


End file.
